Glamour of the Damned
by Corsets and Guns
Summary: It all started at the fashion show, featuring a timeless wedding dress modelled by Alice the 'psychotic institution escapee' and finishing with utter Bedlam and a crowd of seemingly steroid high zombies.


Glamour of the Damned

Chapter One

The runway show was going well - Milla could tell. God forbid one of the anorexic pinheads trip over the train on the fucking dress: that could bring the whole thing crashing down to the ground.

'As long as it doesn't start to fucking rain we should be fine.'

Yasmine grinned and inhaled deeply on the cigarette, held delicately between her two forefingers. She had been in the new Raccoon City for three days and she already hated the fucking place - it was all arrogant business women and low-priced crap crammed into a beautiful piece of architectural design. And as for the suburbs...

'Here comes the grand finale... the wedding dress Casia is going to wear when she marries my dad this weekend.'

'Is she modelling it?' Yasmine asked, not actually giving a fuck. Milla's future step-mother wasn't the worst looking person on the planet, and she had somewhere around three brain cells, so she could have done it.

'No, I think my dad got Alice to do it.'

'Alice? Alice the psychotic institution escapee?' Yasmine stared, keeping her voice down. Not that there was any point - the hammering beat of the acid-rock playing for the model's to walk in time to was loud enough to drown them both out.

'The one and only. But she's good friends with my dad and really hot, so he figured... y'know.' Milla shrugged and watched as the model rounded the corner onto the runway.

It was the first time she had seen Alice in anything resembling fashion, and the girl definitely scrubbed up well. Her cropped hair was dragged back into a high pony, she had a spatter of lip-gloss on (prompting Milla to wonder if they had to strap her to the chair first) and she was wearing the most beautifully designed wedding dress ever, if Milla said so herself.

'Well, she doesn't look that bad for someone usually toting guns.' Yasmine said.

Alice stalked perfectly to the end of the runway and posed, hands on hips. Camera bulbs flashed manically as she turned back around and stalked back, face composed into the faultless smirk that took many supermodels years to perfect. God, the girl couldn't be real.

And then it was over. The show was finished and both Milla and Yasmine strolled back onto the runway to accompany the designer to the end and back. Then it happened.

Someone screamed backstage. No-one took it seriously - the models could be incredibly dramatic; screaming whenever someone dropped one of the shoes. Then again, the stiletto heels _were_ pretty lethal.

But it wasn't just one brainless and overly dramatised model screaming - it was several, and the numbers were growing by the second. Yasmine arched a perfectly-shaped eyebrow and blew out smoke. 'I'm not going to ask - I'm just going to get in my car and drive back to Manhattan.'

'Oh my god, help me!'

One of the models staggered out onto the catwalk, her dress torn beyond repair and her skin stained red with her own blood. Several people, Milla and Yasmine not among them, darted forward to help her to her feet, but she was already dead - slumped across the sprayed silver floor like a beautiful china doll.

'What the fuck is going on!' Milla's father, Rupert, bellowed. 'Someone get backstage and see what's happening!'

No-one volunteered and the designer himself wasn't about to go. He spun around and sought out Milla. 'Come on, we're leaving... fuck this shit.'

'What about the dresses!' Yasmine exclaimed in a strangled voice, dropping her cigarette and stamping on it in her Manolos.

'We've got copies in the Manhattan studio. I _told_ you there was something wrong with this town! It's fucking cursed, I swear! First that power plant blew the whole city up, now the rebuild houses a murderer!'

Dragging his coat on, Rupert pushed his way through the crowds hustling to get through the fire doors and kicked them open, dragging Milla behind him with one hand.

The next thing he knew, someone on the other side of the door had grabbed the front of his fucking _priceless_ coat and was yanking him forward onto the floor. He was on the verge of yelling at the stupid fucker that he was going to sue them for every penny their family owned when white hot pain shot through his arm. Someone was _biting_ him!

There were more of them, falling beside him and scrabbling to tear at his skin. Yelling out in anger and fear, Rupert struggled madly to get back to his feet - but there were too many of them, pushing him down again. Milla was screaming somewhere above him, and Yasmine was shrieking something to do with how expensive her jacket was.

'If it's money you want, I can fucking give you some! Just get the fuck off me - aargh!' He broke off when someone sank their teeth into his neck and pierced the spine - rendering him paralysed. 'Oh god... someone help me! Someone he-' Once again he broke off, blood gushing from his blue lips.

'Daddy! Daddy, get them off me!' Milla was screaming. 'Daddy, it fucking hurts... oh god...' She broke into sobs when she saw her father's broken body being eaten by those freaks.

Yasmine was lying on the floor in a puddle of her own blood, one of the anthropophagi gnawing at her neck and another clawing at her dark skin. It occurred to Milla, as someone grabbed her about the waist and yanked her away from them, how ironic it was that the one time they needed Alice to _not_ be wearing something stupid, she was in a floor-sweeping, heavy white dress.

'Come on Milla, use your feet you stupid idiot!'

It was Charlie, the cute young camera-man who had had a crush on her since they started working together. Evidently he wanted to play the hero in her eyes, and was half-carrying her to the other side of the room. But it was no use. They were surrounded - these flesh-eating fuckers were obviously backstage and the only other way out was the main exit, which was directly beside the fire door. Obviously they wouldn't get far that way.

'They're fucking everywhere, Charlie!' Milla screamed. 'What the fuck do we do!'

Charlie was saved answering by Milla putting in an appearance. Emerging dramatically onto the blood-swamped runway with two huge guns in her hands and the white dress torn to the thigh to make walking easier, she marched down and started firing rounds at the flesh-eaters with perfected aim.

'Go out the back, they all moved around!' She yelled over the gunfire. 'Go!'

'Come on!' Charlie grabbed Milla's hand and pulled her toward the catwalk. The survivors of the first wave of anthropophagi scurried to follow, avoiding the end of the runway, on which Alice was still holding back the flesh-eaters.

Backstage was a mess. Models lay strewn across the floor bleeding from gaping wounds in their skin and the blood spattered mirrors and clothing racks made the whole thing look like a gory movie set.

'Watch for any sign of life on the bodies.' Alice was back, slamming the door to the runway and pushing through them all to the front. 'Stragglers can expect to die.'

She led the way passed a dead makeup artist and hairdresser, guns hanging ready by her side and heeled shoes missing. Milla kept a tight hold on Charlie and prayed that the flesh eaters hadn't followed them around the building and to the back.

'Christ, what the fuck _were_ they!' One of the remaining model's shouted, mascara streaming down her cheeks.

'They _were_ humans, but they got infected with the T Virus. That's what happened to the city last time.' Alice called back over her shoulder.

'I thought a nuclear explosion did that?' The model demanded.

'No - that was just a cover. These things took over the whole city and Umbrella Corporation sanitised it with a bomb.' Alice replied.

The model fell silent and they continued following Alice through the building, eventually reaching another set of green fire doors.

'What if they're behind it?' Milla asked nervously.

'We're in trouble. Well... I say 'we' in the broadest term possible...' Alice added, shrugging.

'Meaning!'

'Meaning if it gets that bad I'm ditching you all to save myself.' She said truthfully, before stepping forward and kicking the door open. They were faced with an empty alleyway. 'Right... keep quiet and spread out - find somewhere safe and barricade yourself in.'

'We'll starve, and they might 'sanitise' the place again.' Milla hissed.

'True... okay, split up and make your way to the city gates. Avoid buildings - these things are pretty slow but they can jump out at you when you're in a small space.'

And she was gone.

Milla watched her vault a dumpster and start expertly climbing a metal ladder to the top of the opposite building.

'Okay... I think we should split up into groups.' Charlie suggested, turning to face the group of survivors. 'Four or five to each group, preferably people you know, and make it to the city gates.'

They ended up with the previously spoken model, a friend of hers and a photographer from the audience. Still holding hands protectively, Milla and Charlie led the way to the mouth of the alley and looked to either side. The city was a wreck - cars were overturned, littler blew everywhere with the gust of wind and bodies were scattered randomly across the abandoned streets. But so far there was no sign of the flesh-eaters.

'Okay,' Charlie inhaled shakily and stepped out. 'Let's go.'

Three seconds later he was thrown back by an abrupt and well-timed pepper of milligun, splattering his guts across the bleak wall to their left and prompting the survivors to break out into a chorus of screams.


End file.
